Hundred Horses

a palm full

of white feathers

of what holding

is to his palm

is folding the fingers

carefully about what’s

being held feld

into drops dewing up

up on the tip their nose.

radiating espiralating all

about a given center,

an object clothed

in gold that I see,

sitting,

and winning itself toward heaven,

where spin and air

are not taken

but assumed completely

heaven’s swinging all about

this; trees are shaking

with its crash the twice-more-

overed sound of honey baking

undulating wave tiding, coasting

the coast of sea and running

grass that’s sunning,

I’m drinking water singing

for this water’s

cool

and refreshing.

I’m sipping,

then gulping,

you see